How bad do I want it?

the letters jump out at me, shouting in their all caps print.

HOW
BAD
DO YOU
WANT IT?

Pretty bad
I want it pretty bad
things are already bad.
I need to edit this saying to be

HOW
GOOD
DO YOU
WANT IT?

I want it good
I want it as good as I know it can be

Wanting and wishing do naught but put strain on an already empty tank.
Yet I reflexively grab for the handle, and give it yank after yank.

I can be better than I am.

I am better than I am.

I am better than I was.

I am going to be better than I am.

Perhaps things aren’t as bad as my instincts are trying to tell me they are.
Old survival instincts I no longer need, but I don’t know how to let them go, I only know how to feed.

I might be back to flesh out this entry, I might not. It’s my weekend and I have chorin that isn’t going to chore itself.

Turns out the likelihood of me being back was inevitable. I am constantly getting distracted from the things I need to get done, and it’s a double edged sword I’ve found here.
On the one hand, I need to do this daily, but on the other hand, if I’m doing it to avoid my chores… I’m going to call in moral licensing and get the fuck out of here.